Spring Break in Spain

Well, dearest. Nearly a month's gone by my last post. I don't blame any of you if you've left the edge of your seat to get a mug of coffee in anticipation of my next endeavor and decided that there's no point and that you shan't ever return. Really, though, I'm about to flood this whole blog with posts because I now have a sufficient amount of time.

So, starting February 24th and going until March 6th, I was in Granada, Spain. I went with two friends - Allison and Emma - and we stayed with an eccentric family friend of Emma's named Paul, or to his Spanish friends, Pablo.

For starters, we took a bus to the south of Spain. It took more than a day to get there from Grenoble. No, really. Literally more than 24 hours. And actually it took two busses to get there - one full of people going to Portugal, and the second full of Spaniards. The countryside was absolutely beautiful, though. We had fantastic views of miles of olive groves. Turns out we were going through Jaén, Spain, which is apparently the largest olive producing province in the world.

We met Pablo at the bus station. He was a very nice, very hospitable person. Over dinner we shared stories, and he asked us to help him with things around the house if we could, especially electronics, saying "I don't know how electricity isn't just leaking out of the walls." One thing I wrote down that I noticed about Spain/Granada: it's a lot like California aesthetically.

The next day we had a nice pastry breakfast and then bussed into town. We toured Granada, eating tapas, going to St. Nicolas Square, meeting Pablo's friend, looking at all the gorgeous buildings and markets. We then had a nice view of Al Alhambra from our table in the Sacramente neighborhood. It was very warm that day.

We woke up the next day and bought more pastries from the bakery and then went for a hike. It lasted about three and a half hours and was full of picturesque natural beauty. I found the perfect rock for Heather too! We then went back to Paul's for dinner and then went to his jam session. He plays many instruments, but most notably he can play the saxophone and clarinet at the same time. The same time!


The next day, the 28th of February, we did another tour of the city, and were pretty tired when we got back. We ended up watching an American tv show on the Disney channel over there and it was actually pretty funny.

On March 1st we went to Granada to tour the Al Alhambra. Afterward we went into town and did some shopping, including groceries we would need for Pablo's farm house which was further south yet!

On the 2nd, we loaded the car and drove to Ambra which was where I saw my first coastline of the Mediterranean. The farm house was really charming, if a little primitive. We picked oranges right from the tree, through, and no orange has ever tasted as good! I spent the day reading, mostly, which was quite enjoyable.

The next day, the 3rd, was my birthday and the girls made pancakes. Pablo, working in the yard, told us that there was some honey in the cupboard. We took everything out to the table and noticed that the honey was quite old, but when Pablo came in and started applying it to his pancake Emma tried to stop him but he replied (nearly scoffing) "How old is salt? How old is sugar, huh? Details." Ok, Pablo. Details. The glory, or one of the glories, of this day was the hammock I got to lay in. There's almost nothing more than a hammock that I love. I spent this day reading too. That night we had cake and really good champagne, and I touched a lizard!

The 4th was yet another day spent reading, this time by the fire. Pablo went out for a while and eventually we left to go back to Granada, and it was late when we got home.

The last day we were up and at the bus station in no time and eventually on the long bus ride back to Grenoble. At one point I was sitting next to a grandmother and her screaming grandchild. "¡ABUELA!" is all I can really remember.

Hunky Dory in Dijon

Well, dear readers. It's been far too long since you were last updated! As Spring is starting to swing here in Grenoble, I figured that I too must add some fresh new leaves to the mangled tree that is my blog. Starting with our excursion to Dijon and Beaune that happened a month ago.

We watched Lord of the Rings as we bussed to Dijon, and let me tell you, that movie is nothing if not in English and on a bigger screen than that in the bus. However, I'll let that pass. This time. We rolled into Dijon and weren't too impressed. It was nice, except for the way that it looked dirty and boring. We drove to the hotel where we had to put our things in this side room because our rooms weren't clean yet. We had heard that they eat slow in the Burgundy region, but apparently they do everything else slow too! We were allowed an hour to explore before our tour was to start. We left the hotel, passing the Hunky Dory nightclub on the way. Pfff. Hunky Dory.

We spent our hour eating lunch and looking inside a mustard shop. They had a million different flavors for sale, including chocolate, but I bought nothing because at the time I was convinced that a mustard tour was in our Dijon itinerary. But it wasn't. So disappointed and empty handed I was! Our tour was led by this man with a voice uncannily like a woman's (I was skeptical). We saw the town, but didn't really... go anywhere. We entered one small building, and frankly, I'm unsure as to why. After the tour, we went back to the hotel, got our rooms, and all took naps. We then went out for dinner and this lovely little restaurant, and most of us ate Boeuf Bourguinon, which is typical of this area. And delicious.

Carrie and I in Hunky Dory

We then went back to the hotel to see Emma's gigantic room, and have a night in. However, as I was getting into my pajamas I got an urgent call from Allison saying that Stephanie and Brady were going to sing karaoke together at the Hunky Dory. So we all rushed across the street to see the spectacle. After being forced to order a drink in order to stay (it was disgusting), and bothered by the waiter, and an old man offering us "magic" (while rubbing his fingers together), we finally saw them sing "What is Love?" which was great. Others in our group picked songs to sing, but it was taking almost an hour to get to them so we left. It was ridiculous, but that's what we get for going to a place called Hunky Dory.

Hannah and I

The next day we went to Beaune which is a much prettier place than Dijon. We had a wine tasting and tour of a winery, and then had lunch and pastries. We then met and went into this old hospital with a funny colored roof. It was interesting, and our guide was great.

Next up: Spring Break in Spain!

Le Fromage Est Battu

A

Shivers

Where to start, where to start? Winter Break at home was very, very nice. Surprising everyone was a great treat that I'll never, ever forget. It was so nice to see everyone I could... If I missed you, I apologize endlessly. There's just not enough time in a month!

I got back to Grenoble (no airport debacles this time) January 16th, and had to jump right into things. Seeing people, settling into my new host family's house, starting school, avoiding posting on my blog for no good reason. The more I waited, the more I forgot so really, I have no idea what this blog will be about. I just feel the need to tune everyone back in.

First and foremost, it's so very uncomfortably cold. Yes, it's now February, and yes, it's the Alps, but we're all sick of it. Well... I speak for myself and the other year students. We have about a million new Spring Semester students and I don't know how they feel about it. To boot, all of us are at different periods in our physical sickness. I'm just getting over a cold that started Thursday, others are just getting sick, and some have been sick for a while. Simply put, we're waiting for Spring. If I see one flake of snow - no, this goes for most of us - I'm going to throw a tantrum. Talking with a friend while walking to class today, we decided how weird it was that we had done the same walk many a time, just in clothing suited for much warmer weather. "What's a t-shirt?" "What do you mean you had to unpack your coat? Shouldn't it be like skin here? Aren't people always wearing them?" It's ridiculous. Also, the bus stop near my house is close to a bank that has this large sign alternately displaying the time, some random numbers I've yet to figure out (131? 1 31? 13 1? I don't know.), and the temperature. Usually this temperature says 0°, or sometimes it's in the negatives, and rarely +3°, the latter of which I don't really take seriously (denial sets in). But by golly, when that early morning comes when it has a higher degree than 0... Oh, happy day! That'll be the biggest news to report to everyone I talk to that day. Also, let's not forget that this is celsius, people. Worst news: my new host family doesn't turn the heating on... so... yeah...

What's next... Classes are going well. My level this semester is B2.4 (originally B2.2 but everything got crazy with the levels) which just means that... I'm at the top of the advanced? So... yeah, if B1 is intermediate? See?! Do you see how confusing this is? None of the levels are the same as last semester, but there's still a B1 - B2 distinction. Anyway, what matters is that I really like my teacher - she's much more organized and much less belittling than my teacher from last semester. Who! By the way! Is teaching the B2 vocab class now, and people are switching into the translation class instead because they don't like her. Makes me wanna stick my tongue out at her... although, she's a nice person - just not the best teacher. For electives I have Contemporary Literature with the best teacher at the school (everybody thinks so) and I'm currently reading a great book for that class called Voyage de Noces by Patrick Modiano; I'm also taking Translation which was supposed to be with this nutter, but she's not so bad; World Affairs which is pretty interesting - taught by a very nice lady; and finally Francophone Literature which so far is incredibly boring and taught by a lady who doesn't know when class begins, so naturally she starts early (before everyone is there) at which point she gives out all the pertinent information like how class will be going an extra half an hour that day so when the usual end time rolls around, half the class in beyond confused as to why she hasn't stopped talking which eventually sparks Stephanie to raise her hand and tell her that time is up (we all nod our heads in encouraging agreement) but gets told this nonsense of an extra thirty minutes that she had talked about at the "beginning" of class. GOD!

My new host family is rather lovely. Besides the house being cold, I like it a lot. So far no crazy bugs! Just a dog that needs a bath (but seems quite happy), and a very talkative cat who meows "help" instead of "meow," but I'm the only one that hears it as they're not so accustomed to English words. Though, I've been told they speak English - we just haven't used it. For a while I was convinced that someone was in danger.

Outside of school... not much has gone on so far. The first weekend we went out one night to a bar to welcome all of the new kids. Last week we played Laser Tag and I placed 5th both times (last semester it was 4th and then 11th... ha!). Saturday is Shawn's birthday so we're having a crêpe party. Hmm... I'm sure once the sun comes out we'll speed things up. You guys! I just really want things to get warm. Ugh. We're planning trips as we have two Spring breaks! For the first one, Emma and I would like to go to Spain and Ireland, which means, if all goes according to plan, that I'll have an Irish birthday this year! The second one I think I'm going to Prague, Vienna, and Berlin with Allison and maybe some others. Also, for a long weekend at the end of March, eight (give or take) of us are going to Brussels! Yes, Aunt Cathy, I'll be sure to try that cherry beer.

The Devil Lives in Airports

I’m posting this now as the majority of you know that I am, in fact, home for the holidays. Even if it was incredibly hard to get here. I don’t know whether to blame it on the snow in Amsterdam, or my all encompassing anxiety - the correct foresight that everything would go wrong. 

Last night, however, went wonderfully. My host family and I had a very nice last dinner, where I got to drink apple cider and eat some chicken. I waited until after the meal to give them their presents which they absolutely enjoyed (I hope), and my host dad gave me a bottle of champagne to take home. We sat and talked for a while, then went to get ready for bed and our 3 AM wake-up. I didn’t get any sleep, and as I lay there in bed, it snowed sneakily.

We woke up and left very shortly after. We said our goodbyes and I got on the bus to the Lyon airport for an hour. Check-in and security went well, and I found my terminal easily. And there I waited. And waited. The plane to Amsterdam was delayed more and more until finally it was cancelled. That airport completely closed. So up we rose from our seats to go down to get our baggage, and every step filled me with dread and panic. And here I finally realized that one of those magical days, Satan created airports, and so they were, and it was terrible. As the carousel went round and round, not only was I worried that it wasn’t going to show, but that the bottle of champagne would be broken. Many minutes before it showed up, I smelled a faint whiff of alcohol. Was it my bag? Was it somebody who just smelled like alcohol? Was the wetness on some of these peoples’ baggage moisture from outside - melted snow, perhaps - or from my broken bottle? I’m not sure where their wetness came from, but when my little luggage came around it was wet from the inside out.

So we went upstairs to wait for eternity in a line that may or may not be able to help us. Interestingly enough, the girl behind me was from the Netherlands and just trying to get home… and she looked like Haley Joel Osment. Haley Dutch and I waited there, moving ever so slowly toward the front, exchanging looks of mutual helplessness and frustration. Finally I got to talk to someone, a pregnant lady with a very nice demeanor, and I either had the option of leaving the next day at 1 or so PM, or 7ish in the morning. So, naturally, after staying in the airport all day and all night, I’d want to leave as soon as possible. My flight goes from Lyon to Paris, Paris to Los Angeles, and Los Angeles to Seattle. Rather, that’s the plan…

[2:44PM]

After sitting for a while, feeling my eyes sting and droop from fatigue, I decided I’d like to go somewhere quieter. Or rather, I looked up, saw a sign that said “NH Hotels Lyon Airport,” and after psyching myself up enough to stand and walk, I followed the signs. After seeing a hotel in the Hell that is Charles De Gaulle airport, I realized it’s a pretty novel idea. I wanted a bed. I wanted a shower. I wanted to sleep for eternity. And I was also curious about the bottle of champagne in my suitcase. The signs, though, ended up pointing to the hotel across the street, and not actually one situated in the airport. Getting discouraged by the unknown; how much is it a night? are there any vacancies? how far is it really… would I get up and have enough time? I decided to turn around. I sat down in a family (read children) area where the design on the linoleum was flowing green grass, I waited there and hallucinated a dog (which was really a luggage trolley) for the second time (the first was in line to get new plane tickets - a Dalmatian!), and had another internal battle about whether or not to stay at the hotel. I almost convinced myself to stay the night in the airport, and I would have, were it not for my paranoia of someone stealing my stuff while I slept, and this annoying children’s ride (think 25 cent machine) shaped like a motorcycle that would randomly make a noise as if it were speeding off into the distance. Four speeding motorcycles later and I got up, walked my tired rump down the escalators, out the door, and across the street. It’s really not that far. Now here I sit, after spending an exorbitant amount of money, wanting to get clean, but waiting for a follow-up phone call from my mom. Perfect timing!

[5:04PM]

Having eaten very little this morning, and being incredibly hungry, I called for room service. My hamburger, fries, and green salad still aren’t here, and it’s probably been an hour. Which I guess isn’t too long… SO HUNGRY. Also, yes, my exit meal will be a hamburger. First one all semester. Which reminds me of things I want to eat over this winter vacation: bagels (with cream cheese), KFC, Mexican, Chinese, Cheez-Its, probably some McDonald’s or Burger King, Afternoon Tea, and probably a bunch of other stuff. Pancakes and bacon. I was pretty good about keeping all of this out of my mind this semester but now that I’m going to be home for Winter break, I’m going to eat everything and clog every artery.

[6:39PM]

STILL SO HUNGRY. Two cups of tea doesn’t do it. I had to call room service back and ask them where my food was. The lady had this yeah-you-asked-for-food-what-of-it? attitude, which I did not appreciate. What of it?! You’re late! They just take their sweet time because tip is included in the bill already. Lady, what if I had things to do! I don’t, but what if I did! T-OH KNOCK, KNOCK! 

She had a Santa hat so I said “Joyeux Noël.” Lady hates my guts, and probably spit in my food.

The 18th

[10:36AM]

After eating my dinner (which also came with butter and two rolls! bonus!), I showered again just because I was cold and just because I could. Also, a hot shower/bath is the most relaxing thing in the world to me so I took as much as I wanted. I earned it. I went to bed around nine, fell asleep around ten-thirty, and got up at five-fifty very relaxed. I hurried on out of there, across the street to the airport, through baggage-check and security, to wait for my plane to Paris which was fortunately on time. The plane ride was short and I slept most of the way so it took no time at all. When everyone was getting out of their seats I noticed this guy who I knew was American (maybe I’m learning how to tell?) and as I was looking at him, trying to discern how one would spot somebody from America, he became more and more familiar. My thoughts quickly filed themselves in the back of my mind as I got up to get of the plane. I needed to prep for Charles de Gaulle. I walked and walked through the hallways toward Terminal E, and began to realize that I was probably in the best part of this God forsaken airport. At points, I didn’t know if I was in Paris or London Heathrow (pure class, right there). For some reason I told myself it would be relatively easy from here to LA, and I still hope that as I sit here at E61 until nearly four this afternoon, but we had to go through security again. W-why? Are there hidden knives on your planes that people just pick up and use to stab people waiting for their planes? No. It’s ridiculous. Y’all are crazy. Going through security, or rather, as I was about to get in line, I see the American again. And then it hits me. Is that Paul, my fourth/fifth grade teacher, Miss Shannon’s, husband? I’m nearly certain it is, I don’t know what he’s doing in this airport because she wasn’t with him and I don’t know where he went… was there some other direct flight to Seattle? If so, thank you, pregnant lady at the Air France desk in Lyon, for giving me this crazy replacement ticket. Just when I was beginning to feel better about pregnant women everywhere. Well enjoy your flight, Paul! Although, I am incredibly early… he could have went to go get something to eat. If I see him I’m going to shout at him like a crazy person: “PAUL! Where’s your wife?!” I’m not even going to ask if he remembers meeting me that one time at his sister-in-law’s house.

So here I am, at gate E61, alone because all the people who were here to go to Atlanta have boarded their flight. Also, apparently I have go pick up my baggage in LA and then check it in again. First I have to go through customs. I’ll be glad to be in the States though because; occasionally in these French airports I’ve been called madame - I really need a haircut - (although they have been calling me jeune homme endearingly which means ‘young man,’ and makes me feel special - like they’re making sure I need to get where I’m going because I’m young and alone), and I’ll be giving and receiving smiles without a cultural problem. Hey! So in the hotel room last night I delicately opened my little suitcase to survey the damage of the broken champagne bottle. I lifted up the shirts which were placed on top, and to my surprise, the bottle was intact. However, I did not touch it, did not lift it up for fear of the bottom suddenly dropping out or some other disaster so I put the shirts back and zipped it up. Let’s see what customs says… I don’t even know if I’m allowed to have it. It’s a gift… but I’m underage. If they confiscate it I hope they have a fun time dumping the rest all over my possessions.

[2:25PM]

I’ve been sitting in the same seat. I watched the Hanoi group come and go. I heard a man, neither from France, nor anywhere English speaking, cry in a frustrated frenzy, pacing back and forth and then the snow began to lightly fall. Now I see big flakes everywhere. I’d get up and go get something to eat but nobody’s here to watch my things and I don’t feel like carrying them around because my shoulders hurt. If this snow  perturbs my flight to LA I’m going to be a crying man in an airport.

[2:53PM]

I found all my friends! Luckily I got up from my seat to look at the screen at my gate, E61, to see that the LA flight gate was changed to E76. So I grabbed all of my stuff and high-tailed it over here. And here they are! A small crowd of people.

The 19th

This crowd of people consisted of a man in a red shirt, a man (let’s call him) Jim D. who was going to San Diego from LA, and an older couple with a baby. After I sat down, Red Shirt kept looking over his shoulder at four second intervals, and I didn’t know if it was at me or the girl sitting next to me, and I couldn’t figure him out, and frankly I was getting so annoyed. What are you looking at, sir?! And then I realized that he was waiting for his son, who eventually came. Jim D. San Diego came and put his bags in the chair next to me, starting with “Is anyone sitting here?” to which I replied “non,” and I don’t know why because he was speaking English. So he said “Can I leave my bags here for a second?” to which I replied “oui.” I don’t know what’s happening. I can’t communicate with anyone! A little while later a couple, the woman in her fifties (very tall and skinny, long white-blonde hair, dressed like a hippy) and her… father? husband? who was in his mid-sixties maybe, came with a baby who was running all over the place. I looked at her and realized she had Down Syndrome which lead to more questions… did these two people reproduce? I let it alone until Jim D. San Diego came back, looked at the couple, and said “That girl’s retarded.” to which I replied “yeah…” Thank you Captain Obvious. Who says that? I don’t know you! We’re not friends!

We couldn’t get on the plane for over twenty minutes because they were taking forever to clean the cabin. I was afraid I was going to miss my flight to Seattle if we didn’t get to LA on time because my layover wasn’t that long. In fact, when we got on the plane we were sitting there for a long time, and then they had to de-ice everything. I was most certainly going to miss my flight home.

I was sitting next to a lady, a Guatemalan-American, who was very nice, but whom I started to hate because she slept so easily. I couldn’t get comfortable and I only dozed in bits and pieces. I never got her name but I named her Lupe in my head. Apparently, Lupe’s customs papers were in French, which explained why she was having such a hard time reading and filling them out. I helped her as much as I could but I don’t know how much correct information she got on there because of scratching things out and rewriting everything.

Finally in LA and past customs, I got my bag (which was wet again), and headed to find the Air France desk to get a new ticket to Seattle. It was around ten at night, and as I got to the level of my desk, I found my cousins who came to look for me! We got a ticket to Seattle for the next morning, and I stayed with them at my aunt and uncle’s house. That night we opened my luggage to determine the status of my champagne bottle. Fully intact! Miraculously. They gave me some bubble wrap and we called it good. The next morning I got to eat a bagel!

Now here I sit in LA waiting for my plane home.

The 20th

The plane from LA to Seattle was only a little bit late on time, but once on the plane I knew everything would go swimmingly. I met my parents at baggage claim and we went home (a box of Cheez-Its waiting for me in the car). We spent some time at home, and then I saw Mallary for a bit but had to home and sleep. I went to bed at eight-thirty or nine and got up at the crack of dawn. Jet lag: commence!

Good to be home.

Farewell Dinner

On the 9th, we had our program Farewell Dinner at a Moroccan restaurant where we ate Couscous and other delicious dishes, and we also passed out our "secret Santa" gifts. I got a mug with chocolate and a spoon to make hot chocolate! My gift-receiver was this very, very, nice girl (one of our business school students) named Lisa - I got her chocolate on a spoon (for hot chocolate) and candied fruit. Everyone had an enormously great time.

Shawn, Me, Carrie & Allison

Emma & I

The People who Work at this University/The People from whom I've Learned

My teachers here have been quite interesting, and usually very entertaining. Most of them are quite eccentric, each having their own crazy little quirks. It's inevitable. I'll describe them to you, and also how their finals went (though I've yet to take the last one which is today). 

Well my morning grammar teacher is just... crazy. She kinda looks like a bird, but that's not the main point. She has really, really, incredibly short bronze (dyed) hair. She wears crazy outfits: one time black and white striped pants (think Beettlejuice), sometimes an orange metallic coat, sometimes a black (blue?) metallic shirt with an Elizabethan neck ruffle under that orange coat. She gets crazy unconvincing happy voice too, and sometimes talks to us like we're babies. All in all she aint bad! The final for grammar is the same for everyone in B1: oral comprehension (not too shabby), written comprehension (not bad either - I usually do well here), and written expression (passable).

My art history teacher is probably approaching his 50s. Blue camo pants. Penguin/winter themed sweaters. No top lip. Bottom lip. Absolutely no top lip. And maybe a lisp... I haven't been 100% on that. I really can't concentrate sometimes because I'm willing him to have a top lip. He seems very interested in what he's teaching, but frankly the class doesn't keep everyone's attention 100% of the time. That final... everyone walked out of laughing because it was so difficult. There's no way any of us could have done superbly. Nothing to do but laugh and move on!

Vocabulary teacher (who's also my culture and society teacher) looks like a prettier version of Rachel Dratch (from SNL... google if you don't know). She's quite nice, very personable, I like her a lot. Vocab final wen't pretty well, I think. There was even a mistake on the test in a sentence that we actually had to copy and while writing my sentence I had this inner battle to correct it or not, mainly because it confused me. Here: 'Il nous a rencontré,' was her sentence (if you speak French you should see the mistake already), and we had to change everything in the paragraph to be feminine, but the problem is that there should be an S on that last verb there because of the 'nous,' which... nevermind, in the end, my sentence read 'Elle nous a rencontrés.' I hope to get full points on that one. I'm taking the Culture and Society final today.

My History of France teacher is cool. His profile wouldn't end with his nose, but his lips. They stick out. Maybe his nose... The best part about this guy: sometimes he sounds just like Giacomo from the movie Thumbelina. He's cool too, and gets really into the stories. One time, for some reason, to explain something... I don't know, he put his leg on the chair and lifted up his pant leg to show us his leg or calf or to make some point, anyway, I did that sexy whistle and erryone laughed. It was perfect. He's cool.